How to Make a War
by LSMunch
Summary: “Because it seemed clear that wars were not made by generations and their special stupidities, but that wars were made instead by something ignorant in the human heart.”


A/N: John don't belong to me, sadly enough. And the quote is from A Separate Peace by John Knowles and REMF is rear echelon mother fer.

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"Because it seemed clear that wars were not made by generations and their special stupidities, but that wars were made instead by something ignorant in the human heart."

That was in a book I read once, back in high school. I wrote it down, probably due to that silly romanticism of young adulthood. You know what I mean. That time slightly after self absorption and slightly before disillusionment. When love is holding hands and walking through a field, picking little flowers that are in actuality weeds and twirling them in your fingers before giving them to that person you're walking with. You know what I'm talking about.

I spent a while trying to figure that one out. I taped it up somewhere on my desk and when I looked up, it was there and I would wonder what it was trying to tell me. And in that silly romanticism, I thought I knew exactly what it meant. Although, maybe it was the fact that I was still a teenager and I believed I knew the answers to a lot of things. But I knew what it meant. Sure.

Ah, I see that look on your face. But not yet, let me finish.

I never expected to go to war. I never expected there to be another war in my lifetime. I was born almost right after World War II, the Second Great War. I should have known better, considering there was only supposed to be one Great War. But there you have it.

I could say basic training was hell. I could say a lot of things about the Army that aren't too flattering. The truth is, once I got my draft notice... I almost wanted to go. That teenage male pride coupled with the romantic view of war is to blame. That and bonehead politicians who don't have a fucking clue what's going on. But mostly the former. Testosterone will get you every time.

Vietnam was hot, somewhat cooler, then hot again. Dry, muddy, dry. There's not much to it. You walk around caked in dust and wanting nothing more than a shower, then you walk around slathered with mud and wanting nothing more than a shower. Rinse, repeat. Get the picture?

I didn't have to be out in the boonies, humping a pack, but there's a certain pride in being out on the front lines rather than a REMF. Once I got to Vietnam, I was torn between the two. Suffer much abuse as a paper pusher versus daily risk of being blown to pieces. It was a difficult choice, but the latter won, which should tell you something. If it doesn't, then I suggest you get your head out of your ass and start listening. And quit asking me about the damn quote already. I'm getting there. Old men are allowed to wander as they reminisce. Sheesh. Impatient, that's what kids are these days.

You've seen the old World War II movies, right? That's what I had in my head when I got shipped out. For the most part, I was wrong. War wasn't the glamorous battle for human equality in the face of pure evil. It never was, never will be. Important you learn that early, but not so early as to never enjoy the thought for a while. But there is a side to war that the movies show that is correct. See, when you're in a battle, and your buddy gets shot, he cries for his mother. He pulls you close and tells you to tell his wife he loves her. That really happens. Hollywood got that much right.

However, they failed to capture the bond between soldiers. They hint at it, but they've never been, so what the hell do they know? Brothers in arms, yeah, yeah, all of that. But it goes deeper. You don't have to say anything to know if someone is hurting real bad. You don't have to say anything to know that you may laugh, but only because you have to. You just have to. Because if you don't... ah, never mind. You can't understand. Not unless you've been there. I wish you could know though, because it isn't something you soon forget.

Where was I? Oh, right. Before I go on though, can I ask you a question? What is it that makes us human? Think about that for a minute.

My buddy died in Vietnam. I got home, told his girl that he loved her, just as he had asked me. And I went home, sat on my bed and I asked myself the question I just asked you. At first I thought it was the ability to cry, but all animals feel pain beyond the physical. Then I thought it was because we love, but that wasn't it either. Wasn't our wonderful ability to hate either. What it was was something in our hearts.

Ah, you got it don't you?

I thought you might, given the time.

Well, then, I'll see you around.

And remember, don't tell just anyone.


End file.
